Virtually Penned.

Greatest Hits.

2010-09-18T01:26:00.000+01:00

I decided to flex my geek muscles today by basing this entry around an episode of Lost. (To properly warm up my muscle, I can tell you its the 21st episode of Season 3, entitled 'Greatest Hits', obviously.)

I realise I'm not going to drown in an secret underwater base anytime soon, but I found the notion of 'Charlie's list' (as I shall now refer to it) heart-poundingly sweet.

Originally, I wanted to copy the list's depiction (frankly, I'm too lazy to figure out how to go about it) instead I'll just type the five most influential/memorable moments of my life.

With my selective memory, and the drunken hazes and clouded judgements... I'm not confident that I will have five different occurrences in which I can share. Contextually, if I can't think of actual events... I'm pretty sure I can make some stuff up.

My First Love

By which I mean, the first book I really ever fell in love with. I think I was about eight years old, my eldest sister and I practically lived in the library. The book was 'Angela and Diabola' by Lynne Reid Banks. I think it must have been the new release and I'd picked it up straight away. I read it constantly, over and over again- I'm not proud to admit it... but that book was never returned.

Writing my first poem.

If you ask my family, they'll say it was when I was about six years old-possibly younger. An earache, the malady of choice and apparently writing about it was the only way to shut me up. Considering I could read when I was about two- creative writing coming at the age of six is a little late on my part. We forward to about the age of thirteen, when teenage angst was rearing its ugly head and I found that writing (as well as reading) was an escape from the world. I still wholeheartedly believe that.

Meeting my best friend

Probably not the biggest deal to some people. It was about six years ago now, when my life was

between a hard place and a rock. Much of it being hormonal teenage angsty-ness and the rest people the perpetual demise of depression. He offered a hand and a menthol and pretty much helped me turn my life upside down (andt he right way round). For a lot of the time we were like a manic depressive power couple, the ups AND the downs reaching astonishing levels of dramatic. Its possible we know each other more than we know ourselves, but honestly- there isn't a soul out there I'd trade him for.

Romanticism and My Second First Love

Together, because they both appeared in my first year of college and both contributed in my spiralling out of control. I longed to feel what Samuel Taylor Coleridge felt, as soon as I'd studied him in A Level English Literature.Reading The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere literally changed my perspective and solidified my love for poetry.
My second first love, by which I mean an actual human of the male gender. My love carousel. I'm not quite sure when it happened and I'm fairly certain I don't know when it's going to stop. Rest in Peace, Ears. I'll always love you.

University and My Illness.
I don't think I have enough perspective to write about this yet.

Universtiy definitely showed me that I wanted something more of my life, though this was more apparent in my second and (the insignificant) third year. My illness? Well, I was 20 going on 200.

Ciao, K xo.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk

2010-09-11T10:05:00.001+01:00

"I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I'm miserable now."

My drunken hour, of course- being about 5 years.
Its been a while since I've actually posted anything, it's bad of me... but such is life. I've been having problems with not being bothered; and it never, well- bothered me. Until now that is.
Its probable that I've been spirally out of control at the slowest rate possible, so much so its actually barely noticeable. I can't even say I've hit rock bottom, oh no. I think I've managed to comfortably walk down here myself.
I'd kick myself for not noticing where I've put myself, but honestly- this hole is all I feel I've got left.
The court letter came today, the last nail to be hammered into my proverbial coffin.
I've read it thrice and it still makes no sense.
Alas, the point still stands: they want just over five grand off me. Five grand I don't have.
Now this is all circumstantial. I didn't blow my loan on drugs, alcohol and and frequent nights out. As a matter of fact, the loan I was meant to get in September 2009 came three weeks ago. It's just my luck that with my teetotal life comes a nauseating truth that this has been the worst year of my life. Unfortunately, I can't have a gin and tonic or a cigarette to numb the right hooks that life is sending me right now.
I know there are loads of my friends out there that will be thinking I'm over exaggerating and want to give me seemingly 'friendly advice.' Or a few 'home truths' that will give me a kick up the arse Truthbetold, I'm not over exaggerating and no, I don't want the friendly advice- at all. I'm so sick of advice.
If you must know, I am feeling sorry for myself.
Isn't it obvious?

Ciao, K xo.

Everything is Illuminated.

2010-07-30T10:43:00.000+01:00

One of my favourite indie films, ever.

"I have reflected many times upon our rigid search. It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us, on the inside, looking out. Like you say, inside out. Jonathan, in this way, I will always be along the side of your life. And you will always be along the side of mine."

To illuminate a google definition:
a) To decorate or hang with lights.
b) To enlighten intellectually or spiritually; enable to understand.

It got me to thinking about the past and memories. In my understanding, I guess you can say there are the kinds of memories that are made prettier as you look back on them- and there are others that can lead you on a journey of self discovery.
The former, I think can only be described as 'The Golden Age of Grotesque'*. Second year of college and my first/second year in Manchester. I can't remember it well, it was safe to say those three years is and forever shall be under a steady blanket of snow.
I've been ill now, for roughly ten months (Crikey, I've only just counted! That's a long fucking time!) and in this time I've found myself remembering the short, destructive reign of Kaveeta 'K' Esquire.
Funnily enough, I remember just exactly how horrible it was. Sometimes I'd be so high it'd I wouldn't really come down and my eyes looked like two marbles in my head**. All the while, I wouldn't be able to sleep, eat, expose myself to natural light, talk to anyone or move. The next day, I'd do it all over again.
I guess it was kind of like flying, its lovely to remember how free I felt- how free to feel absolutley everything; it was like my soul had reached paradise. It was like, getting hit repeatedly but wearing a big padded protective suit. Of course, I wasn't actually wearing one and it brings me to wear I am today- with a stomach that barely functions and health that has taken such a pummelling it can be described as literally black and blue. I can't imagine where I'd be if I'd carried on- I guess I'd be none the wiser though, those things have a way numbing physical pain.
My life in comparison is being less of a libertine and more of an introverted teetotal nerdy thing. Which I love, its definitely more me and I've not felt this comfortable in myself for a number of years. Its nice. Quiet... I do miss drinking sometimes.

Ciao Kkkkkk*** xo.

*Thank you, Marilyn Manson
** I had to throw in a Peter Doherty song. Even before my love for him, my quest for Arcady was the same.
*** The way to describe a K induced night I guess. I'm not sure why but I used to always write in on various social networking sites.

Diet Drama

2010-06-30T01:17:00.000+01:00

"A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands. " - Lord Byron

It's finally that time of year, again. The time when I decide that I need to get into shape, join a gym, and slim down several hundred dress sizes. (Yes, I am exaggerating!) Usually the mere thought of changing my life sends me into fits of uncertainty and absolute bouts of paranoia. However, the time in my life has come; the time that I'm doing it for myself. I'm just tired of being seen differently and being judged acutely on my appearance alone. Which in turn, isn't a bad one. I'm always groomed, at least I think so anyway.
I guess I need to take you back seven or so days. Last week featured me not drinking a drop, but still having my head in a toilet for 80% of the day. Having nightly stomach cramps that didn't require me eating several pounds of dodgy meat, nor allowing to sleep, ever. Basically, I'm pretty sure I've been close to revisiting my own personal hell on earth.

I finally managed to crawl out of my pit of despair, tie my hair up, stick on a pair of glasses, (minor make-up), a leather jacket and hurl myself to the doctor's surgery.
If my life last week was hell on earth, my doctor... well- I guess she is best described as the devil herself.

I guess it wasn't really what she said, but how she said it. I left the surgery too stunned to actually take it all in. The long and short of it is, I'm going to die unattractive, unhappy and most of all... alone. Due to unattractiveness. Unless of course, I decide to sort out my life and join a gym and go for long walks and change my diet and have a strong desire to do all of these things. And do it fucking soon.
Yes, she was just that tactless. (I won't fail to mention, her saying this is like the Wookiees calling the Ewoks ugly. Aye. Pot, meet kettle.) She wasn't entirely wrong in what she was saying, I really should be looking after myself. This whole, inactiveness and the rest of that malarky will lead to more problems than I can handle right now.

I've somehow given myself a bad reputation, for being amazingly undesirable to men; it certainly seems to have preceeded me, in any case.

"They call her Mrs Personality because she's so ugly. She's so ugly." - Mr Personality by Gillette

Can't Stop The Signal.

2010-06-24T01:47:00.000+01:00

"I try to hide it, but every time I see you, I light up" - Rebecca Bridget Jone's Diary (The Edge of Reason)

I've been thinking a lot about signals recently. Mainly, whether I'm able to stop the ones that I think I'm accidentally sending. Google defines a signal as: "any nonverbal action or gesture that encodes a message."

I've always been just a little bit airheaded.
I don't think, I've ever really thought too long and hard about how people perceive me. I've always been a little bit too ditsy, too crude, too big, too morbid or too sparkly. Recently I've been seen a lot more snobby, intimidating and a little bit too 'posh' for my surroundings. (I have you know, being well spoken means 'posh' in my neck of the woods.) By and by, I never really questioned any of it. Never really been aware of the... vibes I send to people. Well, up until now anyway.

It's no secret (amongst my inner circle, anyway) that I've developed a strange not-so-recent crush. Again. We all know how that whole unrequited thing goes. You spend months of your life hopelessly brooding and imagining those perfect little scenarios when you finally get swept off your feet. Then everything is perfect, the sky is the bluest blue - the grass is the greenest of green. The next thing you know, I can hear the bells and I'm Tracy from Hairspray. I'm trying a new approach though, one that doesn't involve sounding like the prepubescent teens that I so openly despise.

The most important thing here is that Mr Right Now stays heartbreakingly unaware. Denying my feelings is the new grown up plan. I have it on good authority that it actually works! Sorta. Convincing myself that I don't feel what I feel is the sure fire way that the love waves that I might be sending can be depicted as the friendly ones that the should be.

Yes, this probably sounds like it's all because I have a frightful fear of rejection or... some other form of razzle dazzle- but really, it's not. In all truthfulness, I'd rather not deal with it all. Over the passed two years I have become the ambassador of spinsterhood, I feel like I'm selling myself out to the man. A man. Curse him. I owe it to myself and all the other people in my life that I have involuntarily heard me preach, to stop the fucking signal, or at least for the time being... redirect it somewhere else.

"You can't stop the signal, Mal. Everything goes somewhere, and I go everywhere." - Mr Universe Serenity

Ciao,
K xo.

Bills, Bows and Babyshambles*

2010-06-06T00:43:00.000+01:00

Its almost a perfect combination. A heaven sent group of three. I would have got away with it too, if it wasn't for those meddling bills.
In fear of turning into a cliché Scooby Doo episode, let me just reiterate; I have bills appearing from every crevice of my house and every orifice of my being.
I am actually afraid of the daily post, I run away from it like a twitchy drug dealer- wondering who's going to catch me out next. When I have a small stack of envelopes thrust into my hand; its like playing Russian Roulette with money lenders.
There's the shame and guilt of it all too, it's starting to make me live my life in disarray. It's coming to the point where I feel like I caused the global recession. Its just like the time I caused a giant hole in the o-zone layer with my excessive hairspray consumption. They should make it guilt free lending, punishable only by death. I'm not overreacting, I'd rather take the peaceful, ashyness of an urn than another call from Mark at Natwest.**

As far as the current three god heads of my life, two out of three enjoyable things is hardly something to complain about. In fact, I'm relatively pleased it's not all doom and debt filled gloom, there's a rainbow at the end of my storm. That rainbow, is in the shape of a bow. More precisely, the favourite piece of my head wear collection.
It's no secret that I have a sordid, recycled love for all things shaped 'bow' for a good few years now. Recently though, (I say recently, I mean over the past 2 years) I can't be seen without one. It's less of a statement and more an extension of my already large head. I guess the only real problem is being mistaken by the high street honeys as a Gaganaut (I'm not sure what Lady Gaga calls her minions at this present time). It stills my heart that anything that is slightly different these days is made acceptable by a woman that (as it happens) is about as original as Primark. There is no innovation, just immitation.
I digress however, there is actually a band that I wish I could just make sweet, sweet lexical love to- and they go by the name Babyshambles. I know, it's not very original but I haven't had love for a band like this since I stumbled across Incubus when I was 10 years old. I'm not a technical music boffin either, so I'm not going to comment on how amazing the production is. All I can really say is how much they saved my life. It's not much, but those lonely and frankly disturbing nights in Manchester's A&E would have been SO much worse.
If my fingers had mouths, they'd definitely have the gift of the gab(s). They'd also make cutlery superfluous. So, why I can't write something amazing about the 'Shambles- I'll never ever know.

Ciao. K xo.

* As the three things that occupy my everyday life, I would like to make a small note that once upon a time (a year ago, precisely) this would have been 'Pills, Poppers and Parties. No, I will not be writing that up for my 'P' blog.

** I don't actually know a Mark from Natwest, all names have been invented for the sake of a point and a witty line.

All Rest And No Play Makes Kaveeta A Dull Girl

2010-05-28T01:06:00.000+01:00

When you're diagnosed with an illness, the best thing you can do is rest... so they say.
My diagnosis snatched away my chances at finishing university; I was shipped on the earliest running banana boat and back to the land of snooze. ~~Birmingham~~ BOREmingham.
Naturally, I was told to rest.
Unfortunately since being back home, all I do is rest. I'm in a perpetual, never ending loop of resting, sleeping, eating and purging- (the latter against my will, of course). I've gone from a social butterfly to an awkward caterpillar, in almost the exact liking of Heimlich the travelling circus clown from 'A Bugs Life'.
Lo and behold, with resting comes restlessness; and I have proudly acquired (and also refined) a series of seemingly useless skills. I can finish a television series in under seven days, read a novel in a few days and organise my boxset collection in order of genre and preference. (The former, is very simple they only have TWO genres; fantasy and science fiction. Also, Sex and the City.)
My social dexterity has run amok, I babble and have the quaint ability to never actually finish off a sentence. When I do finally meet people, my conversations mainly consist of name dropping 'Peter Doherty/Joss Whedon/Neil Patrick Harris/[Enter Name of Musical here]' and enthusing over Patton Oswalt's Serenitiy one-shot comic coming out next week. Topics which I assure you, are better left in the comfort of my bed and in the wool stuffed ears of my 11 year old TeddyBear Angelus.

As it's quite plain to see, being home in the (not quite) loving care of my parents- I'm battling more than a long term illness. Alas, no. I am also trying to keep the limited fibres of normalcy in my brain alive. It's the only way I'll remember what it is to keep people interested in me long enough to hold a decent conversation, that involves LAUGHING and possibly some dry humoured wit.*
Really, I don't ask for much.

On a side note...
May I just say... what a dreamy way to kick start the supposed end to my sporadic blogging. Just when I think I've got myself all figured out, I slap myself with a healthy dose of dramatic irony; just for good measure.

Ciao, K xo.

** A very large thank you to Adam, Tajoo, Jas, Bubs, Nana, Joseph, Jason, Carina and Mia who have either met up with me, talked to me a great deal and kept my spirits up. =]

Resurrection, the fifth?

2010-03-24T01:51:00.000Z

I've been moseying through unfinished blog entries, countless scrapped ideas and attempts at story writing; all of which are coincidentally filed under 'Poetry Dump'. It can only come down the fact that I've been bathing in the foul stench of mediocrity for the past five (or probably more) months.
With this in mind I've decided yet again, to resurface my blog. Now, I know that my blog has been resurrected more times than Jesus and Family Guy combined- it's no reason to give up hope. Not yet anyway. If Seth MacFarlane can keep it up then god damn it; I should be able to, too!

The only way to keep up this blog for an adequate amount of time is to set up a project of some kind. Alas, I give you, the 'Alphablog.'

I know, the title needs work. It's simple really, I just go through the alphabet (alphabetically, of course) with a subject in mind for a blog post that begins with aforementioned letter.
It's simple and it's genius.
It's, Simpius.

The 'Alphablog' (For some reason reminds me of 'Alpha Dog', it shouldn't. In fact, it should be more like... UNDERdog) will commence tomorrow, or at some other reasonable time. Hey, it might even get me some readers. Too much hope? Yeah, I thought so too.

Until then.
K xo.

Oh Buoy!

2009-09-07T22:30:00.000+01:00

I believe everything I’ve ever loved, everything I’ve ever lost, every emotion I’ve ever felt and every memory I’ve ever
had ends up in this great, wide sea. And me? I’m the buoy that is treading water somewhere in the lapping waves of my life.
So what is there to do? There is no horizon ahead and I cannot say: ‘Land Ho!’ The truth is there is nothing I can do. Nothing that is, except think. Someone once said "Home is where the heart is". I wish I knew who and I’ve tried to look it up, but it seems to me this opinion; this statement is just something that is. And that’s all. Apart from so much more, "Home Sweet Home", "There's no place like home"
It did get me to thinking though, got me to wonder; What is home? Where is home? Who is home? Most importantly am I home? And if it's true, if home IS where the heart is- according to that statement I need to find out where my heart is first.
My heart is my five best friends. I can’t remember how it goes now, tendons: muscle to muscle, ligaments: muscle to bone, or maybe it’s the other way round.
My heart is my family. My crude, annoying and sometimes quite detestable family. I don’t think any more could come from that really.
It’s my education, my drive and my ambition. It’s my fear of failure. My relentlessness to give it all up and the lack of motivation that just makes me feel I need to.
My heart is my insecurities, the incapability to find love after the last one left me to fend off the world alone. To face my demons in the mirror. My heart following my head, like the blind leading the blind.
My heart is broken glass trailing behind my shell wherever I go. It has no fixed home, it’s just waiting to be saved. Or for me, to save myself.
Well, just maybe for now, I am home. I guess all there is, is this being buoy awash with all my everything and trying desperately not to drown. Because if I do, there will be absolutely nothing else left and nothing worth fighting for.

K xo.

For my best friend

2009-09-01T16:18:00.000+01:00

It's like waking up from a nightmare

And still finding that you're screaming

It's like falling in love

Only to find that you're dreaming

It's like remembering my own mortal sin…

And realising the pain you were in.

Your eyes tell a story your heart won't keep.

Your heart hides the fear your mouth daren't speak.

Your mouth tells my ears that you'll be okay

My head starts to swell- in reminiscent to those days

I won't let you drown.

Just something I'd like to say to you first.

Any problem, any day if worst comes to worst.

When stuck between a hard place and a boulder

I'll always be that angel over your shoulder.

xxx

One for Adam

2009-09-01T16:17:00.000+01:00

It's just a case of saying
I'm {S.O.} glad you're here
I sat today. I sat. Praying.
And I remembered. All too clear.
I remembered today just why I'm here.

It feels now like it was so long ago
When I sat wondering which way I should go.
All my head wanted to do was block out the sound.
Life seemed so much easier six feet under the ground.

It's only when I met you, it all began to change
And I'm sick of the rhyming- its all hit and miss.
And I can't put it any clearer than I can like this.
If it's one thing you taught me it was how to be real.
Right here right now, no armour. this is how I feel.

My head can't stop questioning "what if it were me?"
And scarily enough it's still not that hard to see.
You helped me achieve another lease of life.
I trust when you say you'll be there through pain.
Through strife.

I am right now, the happiest I've been.
Hopefully, its the happiest you've seen.
You gave me your hand when people looked away.
You gave me your love though it wasn't something you'd say.

They say it takes death to make people see.
Taking people for granted is just another luxury.
Just my way to say to you, I'm glad we're best friends.
I'm here for you like family, and we ride, we ride 'til the end.

You're a part of my soul, my blood, my heart.
And I can promise no distance will keep us apart.
I can't say I'm sure what all this is worth, but
I'm glad I have my little bit of my heaven.
My heaven on earth.

Not even your love. An Ode To An Angel(a)

2009-09-01T16:09:00.000+01:00

"A thousand meanings,

feelings, believings.

A myriad

Of my love."

Not even the moon

Can eclipse your beauty.

Not even the sun

Can shine as brightly as you.

Not even an angel

Can make me fly; sky high

God.

Cannot keep me to

Uphold my faith.

Not even y.o.u.r. love

Can save me from my fall

From Grace.

YET STILL

The glue to fix me;

When I break.

The shoulder to cry on;

When I ache.

The bandage to heal me;

When I bleed.

The good Samaritan;

At every time of need.

This is my thank you.

My Sorry.

My I love you.

I know you're my hope-

That sees me through.

Not even a looking glass

Could depict a better reflection.

Not even your flaws

Can break
Your Perfection.

The Future Is Here!!!!

2009-04-21T10:24:00.000+01:00

My most anticipated album of 2009!

I have been waiting for this album for over a year now. I have to say, I'm soooooo excited for it.

Just giving it a run through now, downloaded the album at 5am!!!! Paid for. Of course. =]
So it goes a little something like this:

Introduction
C'mon (On My Own)
Bebe Buell
String Interlude
The Jimmy Choos
Time to unwind
Fingers
Country Interlude
Beneath The Veil
Neal
Not Over You
She Loves Everybody
Sleep

I suggest you check the out. This album is AMAZING. A full review when I return!
Star Trak records should be proud.

Ciao. K xo.

You know what they say about big hair....

2009-04-17T19:01:00.000+01:00

...BIG HAIR!

Ciao. K xo.

'The little white bitch' that should... rip Jamie Foxx a new one.

2009-04-17T00:10:00.000+01:00

I've always been a complex and excitable individual. I'm the kind of girl who'd rather use fifty words that ten. Someone who talks so fast her head skips farther than her mouth causing a mass pile up of words. I'm also someone who, most of the time prefers grammatical correctness over political. Today is not that day, thanks to Jamie bastard Foxx.

My need for Perez Hilton has turned from pleasure to necessity faster than Lindsay Lohan can say 'lesbian'. With a few days since my last visit ,I performed my usual 'rednezvous la casa Hilton' and was taken aback by a feature...
The only way to paint the picture of Jamie Foxx is this: an overpaid, overrated actor-come-comedian-come-singer (or in another order, I couldn't care less. Hardly a Dorian Gray type). I started to wish I could pulvarise this vile man's face with a brick when collateral took its seat on the silver screen in 2004. Not long after he decided to revive his shiteous music career. Why? I don't know.
(It's probably because his girl cheated on him, but that's okay- cause she's only doing what he is.)

As if anyone can outrun him with his lovely radio show 'The Foxxhole' (how 'Shakespeare' of him). It's reported that on this radio show, someone was referred to Miley Cyrus as "That little white bitch."
Now, I'm pretty sure that's what we delightful people like to refer as RACISM.
And what an opinionated man! "Grow up and make a sex tape...do a Britney, do herion." Better enrol your daughter in the local convent Mr Foxx- let's make sure she NEVER "grows up".
Yet there's no we here not a peep about the Chris Brown scandal.
What's that? "There is no excuse for hitting a woman"
One point to you dickwad.

It doesn't take an educated guess that the man was right there with hammer and nails ready to crucify Michael Richards over his joke on African American hecklers. And I quote: "If I'd have been in the audience he would've had to put his dukes up. He probably should go get a private island somewhere, cause if I see him..."
I'm not entirely clued up on the goings on across the atlantic but I'm pretty sure he was offended. How does this make him any different?
What's that Jamie? "People shouldn't get away with racist remarks"
No shit sherlock. Have another point.

A 41 year old hypocritical Academy Award winner that bullies a 16 year old girl live on a radio show... I personally think he's one of the biggest jokes Hollywood has ever seen. If I were him I'd climb into that giant shit spewing foxxhole of his and never come out. There's a mullet wearing Texan by the name of Billy Ray Cyrus on the prowl; and he's out for blood.
Good luck on that Oscar nomination, asshole.

Ciao. K xo.

"RL"? "SL"? Ta babes, but I think you mean "RS"

2009-04-11T00:43:00.000+01:00

So I found an old unopened email from a tutor dated from about a year ago.
I believe a cluttered brain = a cluttered lifestyle.
I knew if I left it unopened my conscience would eat away at me all day. Fearing being an unadulterated disorganised bum I took it upon myself to mull over the age old cliche. It's better late than never.

Dear Sociology Group E, Thank you for the insight in today's seminar- I thoroughly enjoyed myself and you had some really valid points! I urge you to research the 'Reflexive Self" ready for next seminar, details are in your unit handbook. Also, if you have the time it may be of interest to you to take a look at the website Second Life. Start charging those brains of yours. Regards.

It's no secret I spent my first year of uni with a five pound note acting as a constant addition to the orofice on my nose. A strict policy of 'biscuits' for breakfast and speed for lunch, all washed down with a two litre bottle of cider, a night on the tiles and ketamine before bed.
What a life. It's obviously no surprise my memories from the passed year are about as dead as the follicles on Matt Lucas' head, though my knowledge as it stands- is in front of the chronic fulled veil of smoke rather than behind it. So...
The Reflexive Self- an internet defition:
"The ability to reflect and consider who one is in relation to others is described as the reflexive self. From a sociological perspective, the reflexive self develops in the interaction with others through a process that includes a person's self-efficacy, self-image, self-concept, and self-esteem."

So I join the sight. Talk about turning my sociological brain from Dean Gaffney into Vin Diesel in a matter of days.

If there's any way to reFLEX that term it's on this site. I found myself doing it too. Once upon a 'Real Life' there was a Kaveeta and she still exists in this sim city. Only transformed into a leggy blonde bombshell. The 'Real Life' Kaveeta is one quirky lady who is scared of clowns but dresses like one. The 'Second Life' Kaveeta is a dancer at a BDSM sex club that earned over $300 just by typing her beautiful mouth off. The 'Real Life' Kaveeta has a pout that rival Pete Burns. Yes. I went there. We both have BIG boobs. Can't lie about that one. All in all...

This is me.

ciao. K xo.

I'm just a thought machine feeding my fantasy- give me a book or 3... and I'm fine.

2009-04-09T12:22:00.000+01:00

Oscar Wilde once said:

“Thinking is the most unhealthy thing in the world, and people die of it just as they die of any other disease. Fortunately, in England at any rate, thought is not catching. Our splendid physique as a people is entirely due to our national stupidity.”

Unfortunately for me, I'm not privy to the thought virus - in fact I misapprehended that soul searching would enlighten me. Instead of the clarity that one should get- I've found it just opened many doors for me to deliberate over the strangest and useless information that I can stockpile my inadequately sized brain. There's not much- I find myself coming back here when I've hit "maximum capacity" I can't possibly think coherently until every trivial matter I've processed recently is out of my system. Unfortunately my recent visit to Sheffield pretty much left me with a huge, gaping black hole. It's very rare now, that I party hard and drink for three and bit days straight; but when I do its like taking a trip to the local lobotomy clinic.

NB: Loading up on enough cider, vodka, sambuca and mystery cocktails to last until 9am the next morning is NOT a good idea when walking back from a house party in Sheffield. Not with those hills(!)

I've come across several subjects lately who are the epitome of inducing rants, to name but a few: Beyonce Knowles, Miss Stephanie Meyer and YSL's Touch Eclat.

1. Beyonce: As Adam put it "she would hate us if she knew how we closely scrutized her." Yes, I too would hate it if I had the magnifed eyes of a gay man and his best friend burning a whole into my cranium. However, when you're in the public eye as much as her- it's expected. What's shocking for me is a 'playing it safe' woman SO hypocytical she has creates an alter ego (Sasha Fierce) as an scapegoat for breaking EVERY cardinal rule set out for the typical good religious girl.

"...it's definately exciting being able to have an excuse for being so over the top"

Translation, B? "It's definatley a money maker being TWO artists instead of one- this way I can be doubly annoying and be as sinful as I like... cause she ain't really me, y'all!!!"
This actually makes no difference to how much I love the woman, even more than I love to hate her.

2. Stephanie Meyer- I can't do this one minimally about an author who is so raved on about and who's book is apparantly on par with the other great supernatural novels. (Bram Stoker's Dracula, Interview with the Vampire, The Shining...) Not with descriptions like this:
"The packet of icy hamburger slipped through my fingers..."
Don't take my word for it. A google search engine of "Why I hate the twilight saga" should be good enough.

3. Touch Eclat- A under eye highlighter by YSL that I own. One colour suits all. Sold every 20 seconds to women worldwide. Well none of these women should be asian. They do not blend in this skintone for shit. Propaganda much? Well it's like Charles Manson in a tutu.

Ergo, this is why I shouldn't be allowed to think. Shoot the damned thinking face.

ciao. K xo.

Many years ago, you had me at- "hello...hello...hello..."

2008-12-14T20:08:00.000Z

Here he is..
He's a star.
So.

Would obviously like to wish my best friend in the whole wide world a Happy 19th Birthday(!)
This all equals nicetimes all round:
1) He gets gifts and a total of two weeks worth of pampering from me
2) I stop being called a bastard peadophile from him.

Everyone wins.

So last night's festivities, started off with Gaymer's cider and ended up with Veuve Clique champagne. A big group and then down to two best friends.
On the dancefloor to the stage.
Relatively sober to fuckin' hammered.
Tranny Tuesdays/Cubicle Cognito/Dirty Dancing/Boxer flashing/Sambuca shotting/Canteen fighting/ Penis flying/ 'White Flag' singing/ Nacho eating (eurgh)/ glowstick wearing/ You had me at helllooooooooooooooooooo. Heelllooooooo.... Hellloooooo.
Ergo. A very good night.

I don't think I've said anything about, or to him for this birthday, well not really- no time like the present, eh?
My Adam; he lights up my darkest days and truly is the wind beneath my wings.
Frequently said, but not meant any less on my part- on the contrary at the very least.
So to my best friend, my brother and my homeboy- I hope I've been able to give a hand in him having the most fabulous birthday weekend(s) ever.
And I love him wholeheartidly, absolutely, completely.

And the icing on a Damzeeta typed night?

Matching Tranny Pictures.

Just like perfection.
Absolutley flawless.
Ciáo. K xo.

Simplicity comes like an orgasmatron, on overdrive.

2008-12-05T14:40:00.000Z

It might be the satisfaction of cleaning my room, having a clean room. Or having newly washed sheets on put on my bed. It led to the most intense night of my life.
I have come to the conlusion that simplicity= a decent man shag= black hole sized orgasms.
Gimme gimme more. Gimme more. Gimme gimme MORE.

In other news:
The Mattu family is like none other, as well all know. Panic buying Britney tickets is just another stitch in the family quilt. With 17 tickets, yo. I almost died of laughter.
The mad bitches.
Ciao. K xo.

When It's Late At Night...

2008-11-23T15:31:00.000Z

... And you're fast asleep, I let my fingers do the walking. I press record, I become a fiend. When no one else is watching...

I let my fingers do the walking.

It's official.

I have a MASSIVE girl crush on P!nk.

This is not unusual for me- literally living with homosexuals I have a heterosexual, homosexual and bisexual sexy time love for this woman. And why the fook not?

Firstly, she's named after my FAVOURITE colour in the whole wide world ever.
And she's the only person in the world that can get away with the
lyrics:

"P.I.N.K/P.I.M.P" Ahaha.
Sexy sexy lady.
I doubt this has anything to do with the fact that, put in a man's term I am PACKING heat.

I wonder, if I should put up a sexy ad on gumtree for afternoon sex in Manchester.

Hmmm... I wonder?

Ciáo K xo.

The Three God Heads & Wrist: Red Lips.

2008-11-20T17:37:00.001Z

I'm tired of complaining.

I'm tired of the words jealousy, resentment & crazy being used against me in the court of gossip.

I'm REALLY very tired of my fabulousness not being recognised & continually pejorised to the point when I'm almost thinking that 'me' isn't fab.

And that's what I do to myself.

As far as I know, people can fuck off.

I've come to the realisation that I just don't care anymore. About anyone OR anything.

In the wise words of my friends the Klaxons:

"...from now on, you can forget all future plans"

In act of this, yesterday I deicded to plant tattoo number four. Right on my right wrist. A pair of red lips if you will. To signify that it's time to practise what I preach to myself everyday.

It's time to get truthful. As Cheryl Lynn likes to say, "You've got to be real." The next blog a big reveal on the death of some people that I loved the most. But first:

The introduction to my three fvaourite people of all time and in no particular order we have:

1. Miss Britney Jean Spears

2. Marilyn Monroe

3. Edith Piaf

I'm finding that I feel a kindred spirit with all these ladies. Super strong. Super human at fighting. Super personalities. Super bitch.

But with an underlying sense of just wanting someone to love them. Aaahh. Aaaaaaahhh. Aaaaaaaahhh. I could go on all day. Try and stop me.

Ciáo. K xo.

I'm gonna party like it's my birthday- on YOUR birthday.

2008-11-19T15:28:00.000Z

I'm so selfish, with my yearly birthday and all.

October '08 - Weety turns twenty

5th.Nov.08- Lee McCullagh a.k.a Weety turns 21

12.Nov.08- Tajus a.k.a Weety turns 20.

**Still to come: Adam's 19th, Jasu's & Bee's 20th**

ALL known as...

Any excuse to drink litre after litre of strongbow. Flirt with gay men and accidently throw a boob out of my top.

I can't say it's all exclusively birthday banter.

That's a typical Tuesday night.

No, I really do love people's birthday's though. Mainly mine. It's the only given day I'm allowed to be a diva. Be a, be a diva.

And look fabulous but be as rowdy as a bride-to-be.

Lee's birthday was a disaster, though extremely cost effectice. F.Y.I all you budding alcoholics- drinking sambuca straight from the bottle gurantee's you'll only spend a fiver.

And I'm pretty sure that I won't be going back to Leicester any time soon if I'm honest with you. It's too much walking just to get to Asda. And no one else wants to catch a bastard cab. Zanzi tore it UP though. With pound drinks for EVERYTHING. Ace 90s dance and some pretty good hip hop/rnb. I wouldn't reccommend that place if you like commercial everything though. You bastard SKANK!

It has come to my attention, delightfully moving on... that I have a few copy cats festering about in all the dust that I've kicked up. HOW. Rude. I do have a message for my dear old Jason though:

My life's a fantasy

That you're not smart enough to even dream

My ice is making me freeze

You can try and try you can't beat me

.... You know I have BARE love for you anyway.

Ciáo K xo.

It's just Gossip, Girl

2008-11-07T14:33:00.000Z

GOSSIP. A Google definition:

"Gossip is idle talk or rumor. Most gossip is a distorted and far-fetched story derived from a small reality"

I will start off by saying, I am what I be. I do what I want. Do who I want and stop at nothing to get WHAT I want. This, does not make me a bad person.
This makes me a target for vicious rumour spreading. I blame the culture of asians. It's not racism. It's a mere observation of my own race.
I can't be who I be without upsetting the balance what a 'GOOD ASIAN GIRL' should be.

I won't lie, I like to gossip and bitch with my best friend about pretty much everyone is who is mutually in our lives. I do dabble and dip my feet in the water more often than I should admit.
But I do.
It's human nature.
What I didn't expect is a leak in my head quarters about my up close and personals.

HORRIFIED much?!

I've spent the passed week in a pit of despair. I don't want to blame anyone, but I know some motherfucker has betrayed me.
Until today I realised, all women with an amount of power over their lives will have this happen to them. I'm not comparing myself but: Britney, Whitney, Cher, Madonna, Mariah, Marilyn.
I can't help being a fabulous fuck up.

NEXT TIME: Kaveeta's 20th & Lee McCullagh's 21st. Two separate nights of dramas, tantrums and too much sambuca.

Ciáo bella.
K xo.

Trench Coat Mafia Eat Your Heart Out

2008-09-26T00:52:00.000+01:00

The time is nigh for the headscarf terrorist.
By headscarf I mean lacy lacy. And by terrorist I mean me.
Now.

Due to my recent inability to have access to the wonderful world wide web- I have to sit you down, all my lovely beauties as it is indeed story time.
I'll take you back a week or so...

Monday morning. 6.30am. New Street train station. Platform 4b. Departure for Manchester Piccadilly.
I was astounded to note down all the wary glaces I got for being the only Asian on the platform.

I know this would be the time when I would say- they had every right to be nervous, as I am a terrorist- a sexual terrorist that is. Bwahahahaha.

But. The night prior I had missed dearest wonderfullest Katylicious's sexy 22nd birthday.
Katie being my most favourite and token lesbian in my life. Mainly because, let's face it- lesbians hate me. Through no fault of my own. But they do. In any case- if lesbians loved my clit- Kate would still be my favourite.
So having missed this I was not at all in the mood to have people stare at me. Missing that utmost fabulosity in donning a wonderful lace black headpiece paired up with beautiful NARS Jungle Red lipstick. Only and completely focusing on the fact that I might have a hand grenade hiding somewhere...
like a bastard storm in my DD cups.
PAH.

Birmingham doesn't know FABULUSH if it was penetrated skantily up their arses.
Wake up and smell the KY... shpanks. Oooh la la.

Now, Manchester was a different story entirely. Same amount of attention. This one I liked. After a horrendous resit exam. Part one of three. I walked through Manchester city centre. And picked up two phone numbers. One day. One hour. One date (that I stood up) As an homage to Wayne's world...

SHAAAAWWWIIIINNNGGG.

There should be no doubt in anyone's mind now, that it is Lace-Headscarf-Land. If I can bastard pull in it. Anyone fuckin' can.

Ciáo. K xo.

Hating the word 'cool' but loving the hilarity of people's natural stupidity to conform.

2008-08-28T12:35:00.000+01:00

A google definition search:

COOL: "fashionable and attractive at the time; often skilled or socially adept; an aesthetic of attitude, behavior, comportment, appearance, style"

Just like the COOL KIDS!

I've been ridiculously tickled by some of the search engines. WikiHow has a website called "How to be cool" Just running through some of the pointers they give to the lowly un-cool people of the world, like me:

Act like you don't care what people think of you
Be aware of how people percieve you
Present yourself in a way that makes you feel comfortable and confident
Find real friends
Don't be afraid to be different
Speak Up
Learn How to laugh at yourself
Write a list of all the goals you're aiming for
Take a deep breath (AHAHAHAHAHA!)
Be friendly but not excessively eager.

Now, numbers 1 & 2 seem very polar oppisital, v. confusing- especially if you're me. Which I am. Number 9- Take a deep breath; possibly the best; I have asthma- I always take deep breaths. Looking at this list though, I find I check most of these things off. And still remain, as it stands delightfully uncool.
If being cool, is being different to everybody else, and everyone else is trying to be different. Aren't we all just therefore all big grey blobs and exactly the fucking same? The world is stupid trying to conform- the REAL cool people are the boys and girls who have too many comic books and spend their lives trying to learn klingon. Or the ones that can write in sindarin and have many Lord of the Rings tattoos. The ones that are delighfully overlooked by the world and seen as geeks or nerds. They're proud of who they are, and so they should be. They top my list as the coolest people in the world.

All in all, I will forever hate the word cool. It's so relative and bogus really. A farse upon society. I'll ignore it the way I ignore fashion mogals. The bastards. Ruining lives I tell you. And making me feel unconfident and SOOOOOOOOOOOO UNCOOOL.

Ciáo bella, K xo.

Why I love Beth Ditto.. and why fashionista's have forced me to early hibernation.

2008-08-27T01:06:00.000+01:00

" I think it's great that I'm getting lots of publicity and showing that you don't have to be thin to succeed"

I have recently, found myself to be falling quite in love with her over the passed week or so, I don't know what it is- I think it might be because she fucking can. If it's one thing I love it's the people who pretty much have the same bastard attitude towards life as I do.
As the token asian/big girl (I am beautiful) in my social ternd- I feel it an obligation for myself to flaunt myself in all my amazingosity. And the fact that it goes like this:
That you may be a size 8 but bitch: I look.... Better.Than.You.... Ciao. Double kisses. Cunt.

Now, I don't object to the beautiful ones in life, I just hate them a little bit. Thinking about this the other day.
FASHION RUINS LIVES! By that I mean the most important life of all. MINE(!)
Only because, my fan-dom of lace and net hats has been halted to a dramatic stop when the top-end of the fashion hierarchy made it legal to wear it again. THUMBS DOWN TO THAT!
My whole snobbery toward the coutoure clad beauties comes to the simple status of body image. As I'm as far away to size zero as Amy Winehouse is to the Priory- I have to MAKE UP my own seasonal trends..

And now that my seasonal trends is everyonen else's seasonal trend I have to go and hide in a bear cave or something- until it's safe for me to don a lace parasole and black net hat in the winter again. My identity. Stolen by the masses. I wonder when Gordon Brown is going to put that kind of theft on his priority list.

All in all, I love Beth Ditto because she reminds me that big is beautiful and just as fabulous as everyone else. Though, hate to toot my own horn- I think I was showing all of that anyway.

Ciáo K xo.

F is For...

2008-08-21T16:43:00.000+01:00

... Friendly hello.

I'm special because I'm the ethnic one. A little bit of Incredible India... mincing the streets of Birmingham and Manchester's gay villages. Be it Poptastic/ Cruz/ Nightingale's or the dreaded DV8 I'm pretty sure someone will spot me shaking my money maker... voddy and coke in one hand and a pink fan in the other.

A small memoirs mainly just to entertain myself, because I can. A leetle blog so when I'm off my nut I can share the countless hilarities that happens when Gay and Kaveeta are thrown together in one room. And you know, because I fuckin' can.

Every one of us thinks our best friend is the b.e.s.t
I'm about to be as common as a rough mum outside a tower block when I say...
Mine really is.
Addle-Dee...Addle-Daaah.. my B.F.F what a beaut. Sparing the exciting sentiment that normally surrounds me talking about this wonderful mofo...
I have nout left to say.
Apart from... we obviously like to play dress up...

K xo.


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